


You Know I'll Never Fall, But I'm Never Hard to Catch

by slugmanslime



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dick what did you get yourself into, First Time Smut Writing (tm), Gavin is not having a Good Morning until suddenly he IS, It took me three days and hours of editing and theyre still OOC so Big Gomen, JUST FOR CLARIFICATION it is very mild dubious consent but i added that warning for posterity's sake, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, RK900 goes by Richard bc thats such a smarmy prick name and Im in love, can't get over GenZ Gavin, ofc he would like some stupid shit like RaM (because i like RaM sue me), submissive Gavin ftw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 04:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugmanslime/pseuds/slugmanslime
Summary: Gavin grips his mug just a little tighter and leans back, smushing his pillow between his back and the wall.That’s how he stays for a few minutes, listening to caterwauls and the clink of kibble filling their food bowls. The sickening domesticity of this situation is sinking in, and he was gonna have absolutely none of it. Instead of freaking out, because if he did his head might explode, Gavin takes another drink of his coffee and tries not to think about how nice Dick’s neck looked without that ridiculous collar, or how human he seemed holding this stupid drink.It’s not working.





	You Know I'll Never Fall, But I'm Never Hard to Catch

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh i am obsessed with dbh now! i think these two are absolutely terrible so of course i had to write for them because i love my garbage boys <3 this is for my bff @prismatic-canon on Tumblr (prisma you did this to me ilysm). as the tags say, this is my first time working on something explicit, so please take it easy on me! ^^; the second chapter is soon to come and wayyyyy more juicy ehehe

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BE--_

 

Gavin’s fist connects with the alarm clock, but rather than shutting it off, he sends the screaming hunk of junk clattering to the floor. The alarm shrieks, and he groans in response, muttering every curse his groggy, pounding brain can drudge up as he slides to the floor and silences the contraption.

 

Why the hell did he still have one of these ancient pieces of shit anyway?

 

Because he’s a collector, a connoisseur of useless crap, a hoarder of memories and better times passed. Or, he’s just fucking lazy. He spares his bedroom a sleepy glare, taking in scattered crumpled shirts, board game pieces, empty glasses and fish made of felt. Probably because he’s lazy.

 

The bedroom door creaks as he’s in the middle of climbing back into his unkempt bed, feeling like he’s missing something crucial but there’ll be time when his hangover subsides to deal with it. Gavin doesn’t spare it a second glance but sighs with a little more force than necessary. He always shuts the door at night, for this specific reason..

 

 _Mroww._ Guess last night was an exception. Another set of yowls joins the chorus and Gavin tugs the blanket up over his head, huddling into a ball as eight pairs of tiny feet pad all over his body.

 

“Guys, it’s too fuckin’ early for this, c’mon! What is it, like, 9 am? And a fuckin’ Saturday too, let Papa sleep, wouldja?”

 

“Papa?” Gavin nearly shits himself, flings his cats onto the ceiling, and screams all at once when a familiar voice hummed through the room. He’s gotta be hallucinating, that’s it. Maybe he’s still drunk -- that’s probably what it is. Doesn’t really matter though, because he can’t even think about being confused or pissed when he peels back the duvet to reveal the most bizarre, fucked up, and _cock-achingly-hot_ thing he’s ever witnessed. That included during his detective work, and he’s seen a lot of shit.

 

Richard -- the epitome of effective police work, top of his line model RK900 -- is leaning against the doorway to his bedroom with a cat wrapped around each ankle. The fact that Gus and Tina actually like this plastic bastard didn’t stick out to him in that moment, not in the slightest, oh no. Gavin is way too interested in what the guy is wearing.

 

The deviant would never stoop so low as to dress as _deviantly_ as Gavin did when he wasn’t on the clock, and yet, here he is. Those are his socks (one with tacos on it and the other plain white), those are his plaid green boxers (as the CyberLife-issued ones were still… on the… floor...), and that is _definitely_ his t-shirt, complete with a hole near the stretched neckline where it slightly warped Rick Sanchez’s face. That’s right folks, Richard is wearing a fucking Rick and Morty t-shirt. In his apartment, standing in his room, holding a cup of something that smelled suspiciously like coffee, which nobody needed to be reminded, _android’s couldn’t consume._

 

“Uh…?” That’s the first intelligent thing that comes out of his mouth, his brain scrambling to shove all the pieces together and save Gavin even a little bit of face. This couldn’t be what it looked like. Sure, there were maybe two other situations that would put them here, but not -- oh, Christ on a stick. His expression shifts from shocked and horny to mollified and deadpan in the span of three seconds when he realizes that beneath the blanket, he’s naked as the day he was born. Mama would be so ashamed.

 

“Is that something you enjoy, Detective? Being called… ‘papa’?” The ‘droid has no right to look or sound as smug as he does, that was for damn sure. Richard’s regards him from the doorway without so much as twitching a muscle, but he’s got this aura around him. He’s sure that the fucker is laughing on the inside, if android’s are even capable of intrinsic humor. Gavin shifts into a sitting position, the cover pooling in his lap as he swallows down sandpaper and sneers.

 

“What’s it matter to you, Dick?” His head throbbed on that last word, a not-so-gentle reminder that the answer _doesn’t_ matter. “What’re you… doing?”

 

What are you **still** doing (here), that would be the more appropriate question, but he doesn’t really know why Richard was here in the first place. The longer they stare at each other, the more memories begin bubbling to the surface, smelling like vodka and tasting like regret and strawberry flavored lube.

 

… _Mother **f**_ ** _ucker_ ** _._

 

Like the question was the magical phrase he’d been waiting for, Richard strides across the room, all long legs and insufferable charisma. He holds out the mug for Gavin like it he can’t be bothered with it anymore. Steam rose in whisps and he was practically transfixed, his eyes flitting over the words “Mornings Suck” emblazoned on the side. Yeah, they do, this one especially. Begrudgingly, and because he didn’t like feeling awkward in his own fucking bed, Gavin accepts the mug and holds it with both hands close to his bare chest. The warmth seeping through the ceramic clashed with the chill of the air, chasing gooseflesh along his arms and stiffening his nipples to stark peaks.

 

It’s physically impossible at this point for him to meet the android’s eyes; he’s starting to remember a _whole lot_ of things _._

 

Before him, Richard’s slender but insanely muscular arms cross over his chest, and if Gavin didn’t know any better, he’d think that the ‘droid was enjoying himself right now, watching him squirm. But he does know better, and the way Dick cocked his head to the side makes his fingers itch to punch something. Fuck, he might just puke.

 

Instead, he takes a drink of the coffee, surprised by how bitterly, appropriately sweet it was. It bothers him knowing that he actually likes coffee that this sadistic tin can made -- _in his apartment Jesus Christ_.  The satisfaction rolling off Richard is practically tangible as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed without invitation. Gavin can feel his eyes all over him. Doesn’t make him nervous, not like it used to. No, it’s way worse now. When Richard stares at him like this, turns him over in that little microscope in his head, it makes his guts ache and the back of his neck hot. Makes him feel like total shit.

 

He glances at Richard over the lip of the mug, noticing how distant he looks; must have something to do with the way his little mood ring is spinning yellow. Had it done that last night? Gavin grimaces, gritting his teeth. Why did he have the feeling that he didn’t know because he was face-down most of the night? His skin is hot now, flush spreading across his collarbones and throat. He’s never wanted to throw coffee in someone’s face so much, and he’s had to work with Connor for months now.

 

Gus and Tina join them on the bed once more, demanding to be fed in very few but very loud syllables. He’s thankful for the excuse to look away, giving the cats the sternest glare he can muster as they start kneading the bed and butting the pair with their cute little heads. Richard absently holds out his hand and Tina melts into his grasp, purring prettily; she’s always been such a suckup. Gus, on the other hand, pricks Gavin’s legs through the blanket and gripes some more about how he’s starving and Gavin a terrible owner and he’s taking this to the Union.

 

Having been thoroughly embarrassed by his pets and his own lack of self-preservation, Gavin moves to stand so he can feed his hellspawn and maybe kick Richard out in the process. The android stands first and stops him with a placating hand and a smarmy “I believe I found the cat food earlier, allow me.” Gavin grips his mug just a little tighter and leans back, smushing his pillow between his back and the wall.

 

That’s how he stays for a few minutes, listening to caterwauls and the clink of kibble filling their food bowls. The sickening domesticity of this situation is sinking in, and he was gonna have absolutely none of it. Instead of freaking out, because if he did his head might explode, Gavin takes another drink of his coffee and tries not to think about how nice Dick’s neck looked without that ridiculous collar, or how human he seemed holding this stupid drink.

 

It’s not working.

 

His head meets the wall with a clunk, and it hurts like a _bitch,_ just enough pain to make him grunt and stop remembering dexterous hands gripping his hips and giving him a different kind of pain. That son of a… Gavin slips a free hand under the duvet and presses against his hip, gasping when he digs his fingertips into the blossoming bruise. The thought that he might have more like it in places other people could see made him miserably excited. Then it just pissed him off.

 

All that emotion pinged straight to his groin. He groans, deep in his chest, rubbing a hand across his face where his palm catches on two day stubble. Not only is he lazy, he’s a _mess_. Richard chose this moment of ripe self-reflection to return, shutting the bedroom door behind him with a firm click. He may as well have slammed it for how loud it sounded in the quiet of the room.

 

Gavin shifts in the bed again, sitting up straighter, subconsciously posturing as if he could intimidate someone made of reinforced alloys with the strength of 5 people. Does it matter? It makes him feel a little better, and he swallows another mouthful of coffee in response.

 

“You didn’t have to do that.” God, has he been gargling glass or something? He sounds terrible but he’s smooth enough not to wince. Richard just stares at him, arms folded across his chest again, savoring every little move he makes. He’s like the physical embodiment of that song by The Police -- and the irony isn’t lost on him. Why is it driving him so crazy, anyway?

 

Richard finally breaks character and smirks, the corners of his lips ticking upwards as he completely ignored that Gavin even spoke in the first place. “I didn’t take you for a ‘cat person’, Detective. This information has been added to your file.” What an ass-backwards way of saying ‘I’ll remember that’. Gavin rolls his eyes, comparing the wall at his back to a rock and Dick to a hard place.

 

“You’re literally standin’ in my apartment, wearin’ my fuckin’ clothes, and you can’t call me by my first name? That’s pretentious as hell.” It was a little easier to talk now. Dunno what he put in this drink but Gavin’s starting to feel suspiciously less hungover. Or, that could be the dehydration wearing off. Who knows?

 

The android shrugs, a simple raise-and-drop of his shoulders, holding Gavin with that intense stare once more. “You did not seem to mind it last night.”

 

That was a low blow, and they both knew it. Huffing, he hunches forwards, bunching the covers in his lap to hide his chub. He wasn’t going to be the only thing messy if this prick didn’t make like his paycheck at the end of every month and _get gone._ “Yeah, well, I was blitzed outta my mind last night, so thanks for that.”

 

“Are you insinuating that I was the cause of your drunkenness? Because you would be very mistaken, Detective. I recovered you in that state, yelling about having lost a bet and causing quite the stir. You’re lucky that I removed you from the premises before the bar owner took legal action.”

 

He rubs his face again, this time to mask his embarrassment. Yeah… as much as he hates to admit it, that does sound like him. Gavin vaguely remembers making a bet at the pool table after his… fifth beer? That must be where the shots of vodka played in. He stares into his coffee mug, the steam long gone but residual warmth soaking into his skin. So, Dick brought him home then. But that doesn’t explain…

 

“Did we fuck last night?” Alright, so it was a pointless question. Obviously, Richard was wearing his stuff just to mess with him (and it was working). But what happened in between? He keeps his eyes glued to the swirling black of his drink like it holds all of his blurry memories.

 

* * *

 

_“Detective Reed, please refrain from rubbing your alcohol-soaked fingers all over my clothing. The stench will be difficult to remove later on.” Cool hands, smooth fingertips lacking any callouses, broke his grasp on the lapels of Richard’s coat, forcing him to slump back against his apartment door._

 

_In response, Gavin whined, loud and long and pitiful like a petulant child. “Dick, c’moooon! Stop wearin’ such… nice… good stuff ‘n it won’t be hard!” His head lolled drunkenly for a few brief seconds while Richard maneuvered him off of the handle so he could unlock it. He was… really big. Why’d CyberLife make him so big, anyway? Gavin leaned into the android’s chest as the lock clicked, pressing his nose into the solid curve of his throat._

 

_“‘M hard though…” He laughed, leaning all of his weight into Richard when the door gave way behind him._

 

_The same hands that had pushed him away a few seconds ago were suddenly drawing him closer, wrapping around his ribs to keep him from collapsing. Dick never touched him like this, not unless he’d gotten into a fight with a perp. Had he been in a fight? Too many questions -- he would rather focus on Richard’s mechanical breath ghosting over the shell of his ear as he all but dragged him inside and shoved him against the door when it closed._

 

_“I’m aware, Detective. You became aroused approximately 8 minutes and 41 seconds after we left the bar.” Ouch. Gavin suddenly craved personal space and shoved at the ‘droid’s chest, grunting with exertion. Richard didn’t budge._

 

 _“_ Gavin _.” That got his attention. His fingers dangled limply from Richard’s pretty white coat, struck by how manly his name sounded coming out of the other’s mouth. Maybe it had more to do with how deep Dick’s voice was._ Fuck _, he was hard for his partner -- his perfect, snarky, fashionista android partner. The line between crippling loneliness and genuine emotion was getting blurrier every minute that passed. Augh; he never wanted to drink after tonight again._

 

_“Are you going to behave yourself tonight, or must I stay to make sure you don’t accidentally smother?”_

 

_His mouth moved before he could stop it, the giddy part of his brain only activated by booze supplying his response. “Why don’ you juss smother me yahself?”_

 

_Richard smiled, a genuine grin of pearly Great White teeth that nearly gave Gavin a heart attack. That’s going in his “shit that scares me but turns me on” mental folder. Booze brain was going to get him killed tonight, wasn’t it?_

 

_“If you insist, Detective.”_

 

* * *

 

Despite how much he hates being startled, Gavin nearly drops his mug when Dick cages his hips down, grasping the bruises seamlessly through the thin cover. It was pure luck that he didn’t, although some of the warm liquid splashed over the lip, dribbling onto his bare chest. Gavin hisses in surprise, his eyes snapping to meet Richards; neither of them backing down.

 

He thought that maybe his prolonged sentence with ‘droid would only make him distrust humans more, but apparently he’d had the opposite effect despite being his typical asshole self. The android hovers a few inches away, propped on one knee to tower over him. He has Gavin pinned, whether or not it was his intention, but he wasn’t complaining (even though he _should be_ ).

 

“Do you mean to tell me that you do not remember?”

 

Gavin swallows thickly, sandpaper replaced with tar, stoppering his words. Oh, he was remembering, alright. His lungs were tight, chest constricting with mild panic and major arousal.

 

With the poise of a nun and the patience of a glutton, Richard plucks the mug from Gavin’s grasp and sets it on the bedside table. Right next to a half-used bottle of lube -- _why did he even have the flavored kind in the fist place_? Gavin glares at the ‘droid’s hands, only refraining from grabbing it back out of sheer curiosity. First he gives him coffee, and then takes it away before he can finish it. _Why am I being punished_ , he whines to himself.

 

“You’re heart rate is elevated by 17%, and your internal core temperature is steadily climbing. Do you require further stimulation for complete memory recovery?” He can feel Richard’s simulated breath wafting over the stickiness of the coffee on his pecs. The android’s face was tilted down, but he was looking up, creating a very realistic illusion of innocence. He’s calling bullshit on that.

 

The illusion is broken when the android’s tongue peaks out, swiping a broad stripe up Gavin’s chest and catching most of the coffee residue. It was freaky, being licked and _feeling_ saliva only for there to be none. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, and all the guy’s done so far is put on one of his old t-shirts without asking, and lick him. Mr. Chub, meet full blown raging boner. Boner, meet the shambles of Gavin’s life.

 

“The fuck...” It’s a feat that he can even manage a pissy attitude right now. “The fuck do you think you’re doin’, Dick?”  He can taste lust on his tongue right now, but he’d much rather be tasting it on Richard’s. That was something he did remember, the strange, clean, bland flavor of his partner’s mouth, less warm than his own but just as demanding. Okay, back up, time out; he’d rather be taking a very cold shower. This had bad news written all over it. Once was enough, even if he was drunk, but twice is begging for trouble.

 

Gavin didn’t beg.

 

As if reading his mind (and not giving a single fuck for the resentment he found there), Richard releases one of his hips to grasp his chin, firm and unyielding. Ready to teach a lesson. And God, if Gavin wasn’t one dumb son of a bitch in need of some correcting.

 

The kiss is a lot like the one from last night, well, at least he thinks it is. Warm against cool, pressing together hungrily, defiant and inviting at the same time. Gavin parts his lips with a broken grunt of confusion, knowing his breath probably smelled terrible and still not caring. Richard twists his fingers deftly, prying Gavin’s mouth open further to deepen the kiss, his breathing pattern calm and rational against his own very human panting.   
  
One day, he was going to fucking ruin this android. The thought shocks him a little, but instead of making him feel disgusted, it stirs the fire in his gut, sending a tremor down his spine. _Messy, messy, messy_.

 

He can’t clench his jaw to muffle any noises, so they spill into Richard’s mouth unopposed, a strange mixture of whines and growls. Gavin reaches up to grab his shoulders, fingers digging into his synthetic flesh, pushing like his strength was anything to the android. Richard doesn’t relent at first, seeming to relish his control before he pulled back, his lips wet from Gavin’s mouth.

 

Android’s shouldn’t be capable of feeling pleasure, but Richard was very prideful of his unique model status, being state of the art from Mommy CyberLife herself. The brainchild of some of the most brilliant technicians and inventors from across the globe -- a walking, talking, thinking supercomputer designed to be the perfect crime-solving machine. Look what they did to him -- paired him with the most hot-headed, ambitious jerkwad of a detective they could find, that’s what.

 

And look where it got them. Gavin can practically see the reflection of his own pupils blown wide in Richard’s steely blues, terrifying amounts of intrigue and hunger glinting back at him. The next thing he knows, he’s being yanked down flat against the bed with the duvet ripped away from his legs, pushing a gasp from deep in his chest. A little warning next time would be great, you insatiable plastic ass. Gavin’s cock bounces against his stomach, a smudge of precum glistening on the swollen head. He would be embarrassed about being so hard already if it wasn’t for the look on Richard’s face when he saw him. The sheer curiosity in his gaze countered the look of boredom he was sporting, ruining his facade.

 

“Dilated pupils, increased body temperature, accelerated heart rate. All signs of arousal, of course, but... “ A slender, pale finger trails down the shaft of Gavin’s cock, making it jump in excitement. He fisted his hands in the sheet, shame licking his skin like fire and he blushed a terrible shade of crimson. “Are you aroused enough to recall this scene? We were in the same position the previous evening.”

 

_His hands pinned beside his head, gasping as Richard bit down over his pulse; the fear of knowing how easily he could die just made his arousal that much worse._

 

Choking on his insults, Gavin nodded mutely, setting his jaw in determination. Whatever this game was, he didn’t feel like playing. Not again, not if he had a choice this time. He ignores the little voice in his head that reminded him he’d probably begged for it last night; he didn’t beg, and he never would.

 

Richard was as tickled by this development as a spontaneously emoting machine could be, straddling Gavin’s thighs easily. The press of the android’s straining erection in his own boxers was a sight to behold. Prior to last night, he wasn’t aware that Dick had a -- well, a dick. Couldn’t say he was surprised though… but if that was the case, did Connor have one too? Gavin immediately hated himself for the thought because his body betrayed him, his cocking twitching against his stomach. Androids spit in the face of humanity by being far more perfect than they could ever be, and all he wants to do is jump their cold, hard, metal bones. He might just combust right here on the spot, and save the world a whole lot of trouble.

 

Richard simply stared down at him as he struggled through his existential crisis, impassive besides the curve of his lips. Gavin clutched at the wrist connected to the hand on his face, a silent challenge for control.

 

“You gave an affirmative answer that you could accurately remember the events that transpired last night, between the two of us. Tell me, **Gavin** , what happened?” His voice, his fucking voice -- how could anything subsisting on written code sound so goddamn salacious? Gavin hoped with everything that he had that Dick never decided to use that tone when they were in the field. He’d already proven he had an Achilles heel (a six foot, blue eye’d one at that), and if Dick decided to take advantage of it, he would be in for a real shit show.

 

In spite of himself, Gavin cleared his throat, mind spinning with the memories of how he got those bruises.  


 

* * *

_Gavin stumbled into the bedroom, landing with a shout on his hands and knees. It was probably that last shot that did him in… or maybe the two before it. He scowled to himself before tripping again when Richard tugged him to his feet._

 

_“Quit pushin’, I’m goin’, yah piece ah shit!” Slurring didn’t help. He was dizzy, and dizzier still when smooth, gentle hands guided him roughly down on the bed, tugging his jeans and boxers down over his bare ass. That was new -- Gavin gasped, clawing at the bedsheets to try and find something that wasn’t spinning._

 

_Richard touched him again, pressing his hands cool and firm against his back, smoothing his shirt up to trail back down his bare spine. Gavin shuddered unconsciously, pressing his face into the duvet to muffle his pleased moan. When he could feel Dick’s hand’s, things were more solid, easier to grasp. And grasp they did -- spreading his cheeks like he was some prized show horse to be admired. When he tried to reach back and swat his hands away, Gavin slumped further into the sheets, groaning curses into the darkness of the room._

 

_“Stop moving, Detective, or you’ll suffocate before I can take care of that for you.”_

 

_Nimble fingers prodded his entrance, and his groan piqued sharply, his breath stuttering as he tried to decide whether to fight or flee. Richard’s hand traced his vertebrae, a whispered display of the control he held. Gavin turned his head to the side, panting, spitting his tongue back out._

 

_“Promises, promises, you plastic fucker…” The gentleness evaporated in the blink of an eye, and suddenly Gavin’s ass was on fire. He jolted, yelping against the strength of Richard’s slap._

 

 _“I thought I told you to behave,_ Detective _.” Richard sank a finger in to the knuckle, and Gavin sank his face back into the mattress. If this was the punishment for stepping out of line, he was about to be on his worst behavior._

 


End file.
